


go stupid, go dumb

by placidings



Series: black swans, you & i [2]
Category: Noli Me Tangere & Related Works - José Rizal
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Drinking, Multi, fancy hotel shenanigans, jus wanted to see them going stupid bro, told yall i wont let this shit go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23541646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placidings/pseuds/placidings
Summary: This was how the iconic Makaraig Video, The One With The Pool Scene went down: Makaraig was downing his third shot of tequila when he heard it: the loudest and heaviest fucking bass ever, five consecutive booms that rattled his skull so loud that he actually paused when he reached for a lemon; mind blank for a moment except for the pounding in his head. The opportunity, the vision presented itself, and Makaraig may have been half-sober, but an idea is an idea.(Or, a behind-the-scenes look at one of Makaraig’s favourite memories; featuring his favourite dance team.)
Series: black swans, you & i [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695634
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	go stupid, go dumb

**Author's Note:**

> [the video in question.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFf5Ip4BVik)
> 
> Un-beta’d n plotless because this is just a fun lil self-indulgent thing; also would rec watching the vid w/ ear/headphones for the head-rattling bass

This was how the iconic Makaraig Video, The One With The Pool Scene went down: Makaraig was downing his third shot of tequila when he heard it: the loudest and heaviest fucking bass ever, five consecutive _booms_ that rattled his skull so loud that he actually paused when he reached for a lemon; mind blank for a moment except for the pounding in his head. And, god, wow, the snare on the track was insane, and that’s how he just _knew_ —he had to make something out of it, immediately. Like an itch that needed to be scratched, like an impulse barely tamped. He rented an entire floor on the prissy, fancy-ass hotel all for themselves, anyway, and Placido brought one of his vintage video camera things (a 90’s camcorder, if Makaraig isn’t mistaken), and, well. _Well_. The opportunity, the vision presented itself, and Makaraig may have been half-sober, but an idea is an idea.

The DJ told him it was _Oh Go_ by The Pack.

Makaraig snatched the remaining tequila from the table and told the others huddled around their small table (all in varying degrees of sobriety) to _follow me, just trust me._

— 

Juanito was drunk as fuck, couldn’t dance for shit, and passed out cold in one of the rooms in Makaraig’s suite. The dumbass (who, despite his low alcohol tolerance, still chugged shit and took several blowjob shots from in between Placido’s legs) had to be hauled up to the suite on Placido’s back.

Sandoval and Pecson (the only ones fully sober) were somewhere in the hotel, convincing the staff to let them film at the gym and the pool. 

Placido took a single swig from the bottle, chased the shot with a yell and a loud clap (which earned an equally loud laugh from an equally drunk Isagani), and then started running test shots in their hotel room—said test shots included Basilio emerging from the bathroom donning a bathrobe; Tadeo rummaging through Makaraig’s gym bag and pulling out his boxing gloves and sunglasses which he plops onto Juli’s head; Juli shrugging off her jacket to hand to Paulita; Paulita peeling off the oversized black tee she was wearing over her sweatpants, leaving her in a bikini top and Juli’s jacket; Juli putting on the shirt Paulita wore; Paulita chugging a shot straight from the bottle and chasing it with a kiss from Juli; Paulita snatching Makaraig’s bucket hat off his head; Makaraig tilting his head to listen to the music playing at full blast from his speakers, hooked to a MacBook Air.

“ _So_ , guess we can listen to the track first and get a feel for the song, yeah?” Makaraig began, addressing Basilio, Juli, Tadeo, and Paulita all huddled in the living room. “Then we can, I don’t know, maybe choreograph a lil to the intro, and then we can take it away to the freestyle thing, yeah? Does anyone else wanna do this with me?”

“Nah, dude,” Tadeo said, reaching for the Cuervo, which Makaraig yanked out of his reach. “ _Hey_ , gimme that, I’m sober—anyway, it’s _your_ birthday and your idea, and I really don’t wanna get yelled at right now, you know how fussy you can get over shit like this.”

Makaraig was only mildly offended. It was true, to some degree, but still. “No, no drinks until we get this shit done. Is that a consensus?”

“See what I mean?”

“Shut the fuck up, bro.”

Paulita snorted out a laugh and stole the bottle from Makaraig’s hands, then handed it to Juli who took another hearty swig. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do this, birthday boy.”

—

The vision had been: neon and city lights, dance in the most random and public of places, just freeballing it, every take different from the other. Just a good camera, a good location, some good grooves. The track sounded _different_ , slightly older, kinda like something from 90’s or early 2000’s rap, or something, and Makaraig wanted the retro aesthetic. Yeah, that sounded good, the beats were easy enough to place, to follow, to make sense of. The music was fucking _loud_ , especially when played at full blast from good speakers. And so the _lil choreo to the intro_ was just him directing the direction in which they would move—“counter-clockwise, round here, yeah? Right after we pull in towards Juli, when the beat drops, y’all just go nuts, but make sure y’all move _counter-clockwise_ , until _oh go_ , and then just stick to wherever y’all end up, yeah?”

It took them like, five takes with only _one_ sucky take, and it’s only because the music cut off when Makaraig’s laptop died.

“Let’s do one last take, yeah?” Makaraig said. “Just one last, I promise.”

“Recording in three,” Placido yelled, still half sober, closing in on Juli’s back. “Two, one—go!”

He tapped at the play button on his phone, and _then_.

Juli turned and they drew close, bouncing ever-so-slightly and slowly on slightly bended knees, and then the beat dropped—it’s amusing, really, their coordinated _step step steps_ , different grooves, just vibing it out. _This_ , this was what made freestyling fun—coordinated choreography was one thing, but some things just called for spontaneity, yeah? Juli travelled across the room in a single 8 count, Paulita ended up on the coffee table. Makaraig ended up grooving it out next to Tadeo (who was having the time of his life with the boxing gloves, popping along to the beat along with neat isolations), nothing but the music in his head taking control of his limbs, running through his veins like pure energy.

“And _slow!_ ” He yells, and they drop to their knees, slowly, slowly, Basilio and Tadeo shifting back so Makaraig can close in on the camera, and— _scene_.

—

Dancing half-sober in an empty hotel hallway isn’t normally something Makaraig does, but something about listening to something as bass-heavy as this one while slightly smashed made every sound just _sound_ more potent, more lively, kinda like listening to lo-fi when high ( _ahem_ , not that he would know, or anything); the music going straight for the brain then the limbs then the muscles then _everything_ else, and Makaraig feels at home in it, as weird as that sounds—he has always been a clean, sharp, and controlled hitter, but loose and groovy still, light and lithe on his feet and the song really just feels perfect for him. A deep bass line means powerful hits and pops and isolations, maybe, snares mean quick little movements, the rapping means _speed_.

Nothing else exists but him and the music when he dances—it has always been second nature to him; it always comes easy, just like breathing. Following dominant sounds, the words to a song, always, always come easy. It’s a talent, he supposes—they always told him he had insane musicality, he chalked it up to being sensitive to every sound he hears in a song.

(Even when his glasses fell off his face, he caught the damn thing without missing a beat. That’s just how it is, he thinks, laughing as he paused for a moment to let Placido restart recording.)

—

“The staff says the gym and the pool are a go, just as long as we don’t get in anybody’s way,” Sandoval said. There were pink spots dotting his neck, little marks that looked suspiciously like hickies; Pecson stood in the far corner of the elevator, avoiding his eyes, the image of feigned innocence.

Makaraig eyed the two of them suspiciously, chugging water. “…Okay. We’ll just do quick takes, yeah? It’s like, 1am, I don’t think anyone would mind.”

The people in the gym—a man running on the treadmill and a little girl cycling lazily on a stationary bike— _did_ mind, sneaking him quick glances while he danced for at least two takes before letting him be. It was fine, Makaraig knew shit like this would get attention. And shit, well, moving in a space that’s exactly four paces wide isn’t the easiest thing to do, nor is it the most subtle, but, _well_. Makaraig’s way past the point of doing logical stuff.

(When he stumbled and ended up sitting on the leg press machine, it wasn’t because the alcohol’s starting to hit, or anything. The space was tiny. Placido lost it before he did.)

—

Makaraig had always wanted to try dancing in water ever since that one scene in Step Up happened, you know, the one with the Madcon song. The fact that the hotel pool had one of those landings wide enough for him to dance on made him stupidly giddy—he stood on the thing, sloshing water around with a foot and the wet hem of his pants. It’s not even _slippery_. His pants aren’t made of the lightest of fabrics, but it’s not like he minded. The damn thing was a dream come true.

Besides, the visual of this, once they pulled it off, was insane: the pool was lit turquoise, set against a backdrop of pitch-black night sky and tiny pinpricks of city lights.

“Ready when you are, Maks,” Placido said.

He squatted in front of Placido’s waiting lenses, and _then_.

The water rippled when he starts—fancy footwork is the game, the upper body will follow, anyway. He kicks his leg up and pivots; he stomps and kicks and jumps and sends water flying everywhere, rippling across the surface of the pool. When he hits the beats with his hips, someone hollered in agreement (sounded suspiciously like Paulita). He laughed despite himself, distracted for the briefest of moments, and then it’s back to just him, just dance, just the music, just the water moving with him.

When it ends with him shaking Placido’s camera (much to Placido’s annoyance because of the wet hands and sleeves), Makaraig distinctly feels like coming down from a high.

—

Juanito edited the thing hungover, how he did that while complaining of a migraine, Makaraig doesn’t know--still, the man was nothing short of an editing genius, and the video turned out _amazing_.

Makaraig didn’t stop talking about it for weeks.

—

 **Outtakes** : a list of footage that did not make it into the final video but compiled into a nice little behind the scenes reel, courtesy of a hungover and very enthusiastic Juanito Pelaez.

  1. Makaraig doing Moose’s Water Dance choreography exactly from memory in the pool; long-sleeved polo shirt long ditched — according to eyewitness accounts (aka Placido, Paulita, and Juli) Placido played _Beggin’_ and it’s like something awoke in Makaraig; he shrugged his polo shirt off and just started doing the choreography from Step Up 3, nailing everything like he was Moose himself. 

(“I mean, _goddamn_ , papi, we could’ve included that in the actual blooper reel,” says an amused Juanito. “You’re telling me you’re willingly hiding _all that_?”

“I don’t wanna sound like a creep and Juli, baby, please don’t come for me for this,” Paulita told him via Facetime. “But look at how _crazy_ you move—you should really dance shirtless more often, Makaraig. That’s nice. Maybe try contemporary?”)

  2. Paulita jumping into the pool, sweatpants and socks and all; plus a very amused Juli standing at the edge, clutching her jacket — When Paulita hauled herself out of the pool, dripping wet, Placido caught the borderline _hungry_ look in Juli’s eyes as her eyes raked down Paulita’s body. _Well._ Makaraig sent _that_ clip to Paulita.
  3. Basilio, sitting on the couch huddled under Isagani’s arm, passed out cold, still in the stupid bath robe. Neither of them remembered _that_ happening.
  4. Makaraig somersaulting into the pool, pants and all.
  5. A Makaraig, standing at the edge of the pool, long-sleeved shirt open to reveal a pixelated torso, courtesy of Juanito Pelaez.
  6. Paulita and Makaraig running through an empty hallway, skidding and slipping and sliding in the trail of water they left across the tiled floor.



(These did not make it into the actual Youtube video, but are preserved on Makaraig’s impeccably neat Instagram page, sans the Juli clip. She _could_ and _would_ kill him if anyone other than them saw that.)

**Author's Note:**

> so like. I saw a vid of Taeyong freestyling to Oh Go and was like: yeah. Yeah, this is IT. jus wanted to write d babies goofing off and freestyling, vibing it out in a fancy fucking hotel, c/o makaraig. Also jus wanted to write makaraig dancing, because the very thought makes me want to scream.
> 
> (also !!! more dance!au stuff to come. when? i have no idea either, but it's Coming.)
> 
> talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Iakambini)!  
> stan twitter account available upon request WUW


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